


Shedding Skins

by AgentStannerShipper



Series: tumblr ficlets [81]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Kiss, Getting Together, Light Angst, M/M, TV Show spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 15:28:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19231906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentStannerShipper/pseuds/AgentStannerShipper
Summary: Crowley offers Aziraphale a place to stay. Aziraphale offers a little more.





	Shedding Skins

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my reaction ficlets to the show: a response to the scene on the bench after the apocalypse, and the implication that Aziraphale spent the night with Crowley.

Crowley’s voice was soft when he reminded Aziraphale about the state of the bookshop. It was softer when he suggested Aziraphale spend the night, and the two kinds of softness were different, somehow, in a way Aziraphale understood even if he couldn’t quite explain it. They were silent on the bus ride back to London, seated side by side, but when Crowley hesitated and rested his hand on top of Aziraphale’s, where Aziraphale was clutching his knees, the angel looked at it, turned his hand so his palm was up, and let their fingers thread naturally together. They looked at each other. They didn’t say a word. They didn’t have to.

Aziraphale entered Crowley’s flat ahead of the demon with some trepidation. He couldn’t recall ever having been inside Crowley’s flat, not this one or any other, despite Crowley’s frequent visits to his bookshop. The entryway was dark and grey and uninviting in every way. Down the hall wasn’t any better; Crowley’s houseplants might have given it a homey appeal if they hadn’t started trembling the moment Crowley stepped into the room, and the low light made it difficult for Aziraphale to see much at all.

“Living room’s through there,” Crowley said, gesturing farther down the hall. “I’ll be there in a sec. Make yourself at home.” He disappeared through another door, and Aziraphale made his way into the living room, keeping his hand along the wall as he walked. He had an unnerving feeling that to let go would invite him to get lost in the gloom.

He stubbed his toe on the sofa and swore.

“Language, angel!” Crowley teased from somewhere behind him, and Aziraphale whirled around and fell backwards. He landed on something soft but oddly uncomfortable. “Hang on,” Crowley said, and then there was light. Aziraphale blinked, and Crowley gave him an apologetic smile as he pulled his glasses off and stepped away from the light switch. “Sorry,” he said. “I like to keep the dimmers on low. It’s not usually a problem, what with the whole…” He gestured to his yellow eyes. Eyes that could, naturally, see in the dark.

Aziraphale coughed and cleared his throat awkwardly. “It’s alright.” He pushed himself upright properly and looked around. He patted the thing he was sitting on. “Er, what is this?”

Crowley winced. “It’s a sofa.” He snapped his fingers, and the modern furniture lost its odd shape and sleekness, morphing into something a little more squashy and comfortable. Aziraphale settled gratefully and Crowley took a seat next to him. He set his glasses on the coffee table. “So.”

“Indeed.”

Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s eyes on him. He kept his own on his lap and, when he could stand that no longer, looked carefully around the room. The décor was modern, he was sure, but it was far from inviting. It wasn’t cozy the way his bookshop was. Used to be. Still, Crowley had shown a good deal of grace, letting Aziraphale stay, and he didn’t want to be rude. “It’s, er, very nice. Very nice place you’ve got here.”

“It’s awful. You hate it.” Crowley didn’t sound accusatory. He sounded like he was stating offhand facts, although there was an odd note to his voice.

Aziraphale swallowed hard and nodded, “Yes, alright, I do. How do you live like this?”

Crowley shrugged and leaned back, draping himself over the sofa. “I don’t, really. I spend a lot of my time out and about. Or, you know. With you. I only come back here to water the plants and whatnot.”

“Oh. Then why-“

Another shrug. “It’s stylish.”

Aziraphale blinked. He looked at Crowley, who gave him an embarrassed smile. “I know. It’s…I dunno. I guess I’m just…well, playing at being somebody.”

“Playing?”

“You know. Acting.”

Aziraphale tilted his head and frowned. “Why would you have to act?” He liked Crowley just the way he was.

“Because…” Crowley huffed. “Because I just do, alright? Being who I want to be…feeling how I feel…I can’t do that. It’s not allowed. So at least if I’m a flash bastard, if I play at that, it’s sort of adjacent. I get to be showy. I get to feel things, to say things. I get to act like I don’t care. But that’s not…” He trailed off, sounding frustrated, and then said, “When I’m with you, especially these last few days, that’s the closest I’ve ever been to just being me.”

Silence descended over the room as Aziraphale took that in. For as long as he could remember, Crowley had been a little abrasive, with something of a devil-may-care attitude. But Aziraphale had also seen beneath it time and time again. And he’d seen Crowley’s desperation in the end times, the fear and the need to flee, and the desire to take Aziraphale with him. Finally, Aziraphale said, “The world almost ended this afternoon. I should think, if there was ever a time to simply…be yourself, now would be it.”

“Yeah.” Crowley sank deeper into the sofa cushion, looking morose. “You’d think, wouldn’t you?” The softness was back, but it was couched. Careful.

When it became apparent Crowley wasn’t going to say anything else, Aziraphale said, “That day at the convent…when I called you nice…”

Crowley flinched. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I just-“

“I pinned you to a wall, angel. And not in a fun way. Because you paid me a compliment.” Crowley sighed and ran his hands through his hair. It stuck up in spikes. “I want…I want to be nice. Not…not Good, Good is boring, but…I could be nice, I think. Sometimes.” He chanced a look at Aziraphale, who blinked back placidly, afraid anything more might frighten Crowley off. The demon was tense, like he was poised to run. “Not all the time. But…it would be nice. To be nice.”

They were on a precipice, Aziraphale realized. One they’d been climbing for a very long time. Crowley was close, his thigh just a few centimeters from Aziraphale’s, but the demon wasn’t moving. He wasn’t letting himself.

Very carefully, Aziraphale said, “You chose to run away from things.”

Crowley sighed, his head drooping. “Yeah. I do.”

“You wanted to run from the apocalypse. But you didn’t.”

“Couldn’t, could I?”

“Because of me.”

Crowley lifted his head. They looked at each other. Aziraphale swallowed hard. “That was why, wasn’t it? Why you changed your mind about Alpha Centauri. Why you didn’t leave at the end. Because of me.”

“Yeah, angel. Because of you.”

“Right.” Aziraphale nodded. This was something he’d never done before, but he’d seen it done often enough to understand the mechanics of it. He reached out and cupped Crowley’s cheek. The demon looked up at him, surprise and uncertainty in his eyes.

“I’d like to kiss you,” Aziraphale said, very quietly. “Would that be alright?”

Crowley was leaning in before Aziraphale finished the question. His fingers tangled gently in the angel’s curls and an arm wrapped around him, holding him close. Crowley’s lips were hot on his, and Aziraphale parted his own so that Crowley’s tongue could slide inside his mouth, mapping every inch of it. For all the heat, it was not a heated kiss, but slow and methodical and almost heartbreakingly gentle. After a moment, they broke apart, their noses brushing as they regarded each other. “Do you know,” Crowley said, “I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time?”

“I have an inkling,” Aziraphale admitted. In hindsight, it was obvious. “I’m sorry I made it so difficult for you.”

“Yeah, well. If it was easy, it wouldn’t be us.”

“May I kiss you again?”

A smile curved Crowley’s lips, and his eyes flicked down just slightly. “You don’t have to ask every time, angel. Consider this an open invitation.” He kissed Aziraphale again. And again. And again. By the time Aziraphale left Crowley’s flat the next morning, he had quite lost count. But that was alright. He had a happy suspicion that there would be a great many more.


End file.
